My Lady
by ThereIsBeautyInConfusion
Summary: Ned Stark returns to Winterfell immediately after Robert Baratheon's death. Tywin Lannister, the new hand, demands that he allow Sansa to stay and marry Joffrey as a sign of loyalty. Joffrey starts to show his true colors now that he is King. Can he still find love with his Lady?
1. Chapter 1

She should hate Joffrey. She really should. She remembered what her father looked like before he left. Defeated.

He gave her a kiss on the forehead and said "Sansa, I need you to stay here. But I promise, I will return for you. These people will not take you away from me."

She did not understand at first. No one could take anything away from her father. He was the Lord of Winterfell. If he wanted to return home with both his daughters then he would. Right? He seemed as though his hands were tied. Surely her Prince would vouch for her to be able to return home. Joffery cared for her. But almost immediately after her father's confusing departure she was summoned to the throne room and her prince was on the Iron seat. He was the King. Her Joffrey was King. She felt her heart explode in happiness. Surely now he could fix this mess.

He smiled and motioned her forward. "Your Prince is now King. What do you think?"

"I think you look resplendent my King." She replies with a smile, her last genuine smile. He was beautiful in His robes and crown. Just beautiful.

"I do not feel resplendent. Ask me why." His face hardening as he speaks.

"Why, Your Grace?" She asks, confused once again.

"Your Father is a coward, My Lady. He disrespects me greatly by deserting me." He hates to admit weakness to her. It makes him angry, that she can see him being disrespected, by her own damn father especially.

"I am very sorry, Your Grace."

"You should be punished, you know. In your father's place. Come forward."

Tears start streaming down her face. Where was her Joffrey? "I am so sorry, Your Grace. I would never desert you."

"I have no patience for your weakness. I said move forward." Her tears unnerve him. They make him feel... guilty.

She moves forward and stops right in front of him. Her hands are trembling. He looks at her intently. She was beautiful. He did not enjoy it when she was in fear, he realized. But he always thought that everyone should be in fear of him.

He turns away from her, confused. "I changed my mind, get out."

She exhales in relief. "Yes of course, Your Grace. Thank you."

She is relieved at first. Who knows what he could have to chosen to do to her. But then she realizes... she would still have to marry him. And he was turning out to be ... a monster. And yet in her fear, she had developed a slickness between her legs. And when she returned to her rooms, she was mortified to see it was wetness being produced by her most private parts. What was this? Her maids called it arousal. They said it was understandable considering that the king was so handsome and that he was lucky to have such a responsive wife to be. She did not understand much, all she knew was that she wanted to see him again... monster or not. A week later, she is allowed back into his audience. She has her mask on when she enters. No delight to see her King, no fear to see her tormentor, only a mask. He glances at Sansa from his throne. From his safe haven where no one can question him. He wonders, did all kings feel this lost? He always thought once he was King that the confusion would stop. Life was such a mind game. Did Kings have to feel this way? His father never seemed confused. Whores and war, that was what Robert Baratheon had lived for. Not his mother, not him, and definitely not his kingdom. What would Joffrey Baratheon live for? Glancing at Sansa Stark makes him think far too much. She evokes his thought in treasonous ways. This is why he punishes her. She makes him feel ridiculous sometimes. As though he was a messy child to be corrected and straightened up. Did Starks make everyone feel this way? But as he stares at her he notices his body acknowledge her as well. Like it always does. His dick is far too eager to see her auburn hair, her blue eyes, her perfect skin, and especially those perky tits. The fucking tease. He knew he could have her. He was the bloody king he could fuck her in this throne room and be applauded afterwards. But during her stay he tortured her in less than pleasurable ways. He could feel himself doing it. Hurting her, shaming her. Turning her against him. Was this what he wanted? He didnt think he was purposefully antagonizing her, he was only defending himself. She made him feel so weak. Like his father made him feel; deficient. He calls for her.

She answers like a dove. "Yes, Your Grace?"

"Come, show me your pretty face up close." He orders.

She walks to him. Like a lady. Like... perfection. He was never perfect. His father had reminded him of this constantly. She halts a few feet from the Iron Throne.

"Do you take me for an owl? When I say up close, I mean close enough for my eyes to examine you." He was always so harsh with her.

He did not know how else to behave. This was how his family taught him to speak, to act and to think; harsh. The guards push her to him. He turns sharply and addresses them.

"She is mine. You will treat what belongs to me with finesse or I will have your hands cut off with no finesse whatsoever." Now that harshness was not out of awkwardness.

"Yes, of course, Your Grace. We apologize." They replied in pathetic unison.

"Now, Sansa. What do you have to say for your coward father? Running to the north instead of staying to be my Hand?" He says turning back to the girl.

"I...he did not mean to offend you, Your Grace. He only felt that he had duties to meet in the North. I do apologize."

She no longer answers like His Lady. She answers like a maid, a servant. What was wrong with her? She was ruining his day.

"Get out of my sight, you're lulling me to sleep."

"Yes, Your Grace. I am sorry, Your Grace." She curtsies and walks away.

This is how it always went, he would threaten her and never be able to follow through. It was weakness on his part. He should be able to punish whoever he liked. He was the King, was he not? He watches her and realizes that he's very tired of watching her walk away from him.


	2. Chapter 2

"No! No! No!" He can hear her screaming.

"Please, please, please not my father. Joffrey, please!" Tears are streaming down her face, she is in absolute agony.

Ned Stark's head comes off and she passes out. As she loses consciousness the King regains his. He awakes from the dream with sweat all over him. His heart is pounding so loudly that it is all he can hear. He had dispatched thousands of men to bring Ned Stark to justice just a few hours ago and he was already starting to question his decision. It would take a month to reach Winterfell. He could easily call off the soldiers... but why was he suddenly so unsure? He hated to admit it but it was because of her. She was just a woman, wasn't she? If he killed her father, or massacred her whole family even, he could still have her. Marry her, lie with her, anything he wanted. Why then should he care if she would have to shed some tears along the way? But no amount of justification could change the fact that he felt as though he had woken from his worst nightmare. Worse than when he dreamed that his father had followed through and beaten him like he always said he would. She was a wildcard, this girl. He had absolutely no idea as to what to do with her. He only knew that he wanted her. That was normal though, wasn't it? She was undeniably the most beautiful girl he had ever laid eyes on, it was only normal that he want would want her. What use would she be as a wife if he was not attracted to her? He is too shaken to go back to sleep so he decides to start his day. He realizes that he has not seen Sansa, outside of his dreams, in a week and summons her to break her fast with him.

* * *

She wakes from her pitiful sleep of three hours. She had lain awake in fear throughout the night and had only fallen asleep when her eyes could bear the exhaustion no longer. She was terrified. Of Joffrey, the Guard, the Queen, the whole court. She was in enemy territory now. She could feel it in her bones. How could she be queen when they were all against her? Why did they _want_ her to be queen when they were all against her? She heard knocking at her door and sat up in time to see her maids entering her room.

"My Lady, you are being summoned to join the King in breaking his fast." Her hearts tops cold at their words.

She had not seen Joffrery in a week. She had no idea what to expect. Would he finally follow through on his threat of punishing her? She could only hope that he'd be in a merciful mood that that day. She is dressed in a gown of blue and it brings out her sapphire Tully eyes. She is lucky that she looks so very little like a Stark for if she did she could have been punished just for resembling her father. They put tiny pearls in her hair and the contrast of the white agains the red is admittedly elegant. They would not dress her so well if she was to be slaughtered, would they? Her hope comes through for a moment but she pushes it down in fear of disappointment. Of course Lady's Maids would not know anything of the sort. She is tailed by two guard as she makes her way to the dining hall and is taken aback when they stir her in another direction.

"The King breaks fast in his solar today, My Lady." A solar meant... privacy.

Privacy could be good. At least if he beat her it would not be in front of the prying eyes of court which would only make it more shameful than it already was. She enters the King's solar and sees that he is there with his back to her. There were only two places prepared; they would be breaking fast... alone. They stand in silence for a few moments and he breaks it when he addresses his guards.

"Wait outside while we eat." They leave without another word.

He finally turns and his eyes rakishly observe her body. Some women cowered in the face of the sun, their flaws blazingly obvious when exposed to the golden rays. But Sansa... she glowed in the sunlight. The bright beams only ensuring what he already knew.. she was flawless. From her fiery red hair, to her sharp blue eyes, to her skin of cream, and finally _other parts _of her that he could decidedly not linger on; in hopes of keeping his sanity. Even her feet look dainty and appealing in her lady's shoes. It would not please his grandfather or mother to hear that he had lain with his future bride pre-marriage but he could at least enjoy other _similar activities_. He was the King after all.

"Come and give the King a good morning kiss." Her heart stops for the second time.

She had given him a kiss before, or better to say that he had taken one from her. But things were so uncomplicated to Sansa back then. She realizes, when he raises his eyebrow in impatience, that her feelings on the matter were quite insubstantial and she would have to obey. She hesitantly makes her way over to his spot in front of the full-length window. He stifles a gasp as she nears him. The sun is really on her now and she is quite literally breathtaking. He planned to wait for her to reach up and kiss him but that is all forgotten now. He grabs her by her waist and presses his mouth down to hers. The King was abrupt and forceful in almost everything he did so this was not surprising; what was truly shocking was Sansa's reaction. The moment his lips touched hers in urgency, she feels a pounding in her heart, a haziness in her mind and a wetness between her legs; this leads her to wrap her arms around his neck and run her tongue along his lower lip. His eyes fly open in shock and desire. His already hard member twitches in anticipation. He pulls away in a gasp.

She is released from the haze of lust and realizes what she has just done.

"I...I am sorry, Your Grace."

He opens his clenched eyes and seeks out her blue ones. She is looking at the ground, cheeks aflame. He hooks a finger under her chin, coaxing her to meet his emerald eyes. She is surprised to see a smirk on his face.

"Dont apologize for that. Apologize only for being unable to finish what you started. Mother would have a fit if i took you on my solar table."

She does not completely comprehend what he's said at first but the deepening of the red on her cheeks gives away her moment of realization. He wanted to bed her... but on his table. Before marriage.

He teases her, "Did you want me to take you on this table, My Lady?"

"No! Well... yes...after we are wed? Your Grace."

He laughs in pleasant surprise.

Sansa Stark may be innocent, at the moment, but she had the potential of an absolute wanton.

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	3. Chapter 3

They seat themselves at the table and she keeps her eyes on her plate. He is completely engrossed by her, waiting for her to meet his eyes. After a whole sixty seconds of dead silence and averted eyes, he clears his throat. She looks up at him, startled.

"Your Grace?" She questions.

"Are you planning to remain silent throughout the morning?" He asks impatiently but, to her relief, not very angrily.

"I... I don't know what you would like to hear, Your Grace." She is not used to him being interested in any kind of speech outside of his own.

He thinks for a moment. What does he want her to say? He ponders for a moment and realizes that he wants to hear her _voice_ and cares little about what she is actually saying. How odd. But kings constantly asked for odd things, didn't they? Odd as the desire may be, he had every right to hear her voice.

"Talk about anything you wish. I only want to hear your voice."

"The birds outside my room sound lovely in the morning."

"Go on." He thinks of how lovely she must look every morning.

"I like how the weather is starting to warm but I worry that my dresses from the north are not built for it."

He smirks.

"We'll just have to find you cooler dresses, won't we?" He is excited at the prospect of her showing more skin.

He gets lost in imagining just how much skin she would be showing. Her collarbones, her arms, maybe even some of her back. He stifles a groan. Court could be very interesting indeed, with a less covered Sansa prancing around.

"If it pleases you, Your Grace."

He smiles, knowing she doesn't realize the implication of what she just said.

"Why yes. It would please me greatly." His voice carrying an undertone of innuendo.

Before she can respond, a guard enters the solar after two raps on the door.

"I thought I told you not to disturb us." His voice is eerily calm.

The cold in his tone causes the unfortunate guard to flinch.

"Forgive me, Your Grace. It's your grandfather, the Hand. He arrives shortly and you are to receive him in the throne room."

He sighs in irritation.

"Yes, yes. Have the courts summoned. Gods forbid my grandfather be received without any spectacle."

The guard bows and turns to leave, eager to be far from the king and his temper.

"I fear I must depart from you, my lady."

She sighs in relief. Finally. She doesn't realize how she's just reacted but Joffrey certainly does. He moves to exit the room, barely noticing her perfunctory curtsy, with thoughts consumed by her relief at his departure. Just weeks ago he found himself despairing just at the sight of her walking away from , here she was taking comfort in being away from him. He felt an odd, almost literal, stab in his heart at the thought. He enters the throne room, ignoring the greetings of the court. He sits himself on the Iron Throne and waits for his grandfather. His mind is elsewhere, still in his solar with a beautiful fire-haired girl. Longing to hear her voice but quite stung by her distaste of him. All he wanted to do was hear her voice. What use was being a king if he couldn't bloody do as he pleased? His thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the great door being opened. Tywin Lannister enters grandly on his horse, is awarded the pin and soon they are in the Tower of the Hand; discussing strategy.

"What news, grandfather?"

"The Starks have been eerily silent, we fear they may be planning a rebellion." His grandfather was always blunt, straight to the point.

He is not surprised, he knew Ned Stark would not flee for no reason.

"And what do you propose we do?"

"We have more soldiers between us than anyone else in the realm, for the moment; in terms of battle, we need not do anything but be on our guard. However, we may have to reconsider your marriage to the Stark girl."

He is taken aback, not seeing this coming. Not marry Sansa?

Not share his bed with her? Not share his table with her? Not hear her speak to him? He is quite unable to comprehend the anxiety that overcomes him.

"Why would we have to do this? She will no longer be her father's or her family's when I marry her." She would be his. Only his.

"Well, in technicality yes. But given her family's silence, we may not benefit from this marriage as much as we though we would."

"And if a war does start? And we kill off all of them? If I do not marry Sansa, we will not own the North."

He is pleased with his quick response. Surely, his grandfather would agree.

"You are learning to be a wise King, my boy. But she would not have to marry you for us to take control of the north. She would merely need to marry someone in our family. A Lannister. And you know you are not lacking in cousins. Or uncles."

"NO." He roars in anger. Anxiety is quickly replaced by fury. The thought of Sansa sharing her bed, her voice, her anything with anyone else who was not him ignites a fire in him, ready to burn down any threat to ash.

"No one else will marry Sansa. She is mine. Mine alone. I will not hear of her marrying someone else." He is surprised by his anger but his grandfather is even more so.

The latter collects himself speedily and responds.

"Well, I hadn't known you were intent on her. Fear not, we will work around this. We will find a way to gain the north with or without marrying a Lannister to her. Keep her for your entertainment then, you need not marry her to do that. The Tyrells though, have plenty of money and men that we will need to ensure your kingship. Have you ever seen the Tyrell girl? Margeary? She's quite pretty."

"Sansa would not be my queen. She would not share my bed. Our children would be bastards. She would not bear my name. Someone else would. I refuse for any of that to happen."

Tywin takes a moment to regard his grandson. Realizing the magnitude of his feelings for the fire-haired Stark. He words his response carefully.

"Your Grace, I feel that you should think of how much your marriage to a Tyrell could benefit you. Once you realize how great a reward awaits, you may think the sacrifices that must be made along the way nothing at all."

Tywin stands, gives a courteous bow and departs.

He remains in the room for hours, thinking over his grandfather's words. When his mother enters, he is still lost in his thoughts.

"Joff, I've been searching everywhere for you."

"I've been here all day, mother." He sounds exhausted.

"Why? Is something wrong?"

"I... I don't know. Grandfather, he wants me to marry the Tyrell Girl."

"I hear she's quite the beauty." Cersei, of course, understood why Margaery was the prime candidate. The Tyrell wealth and men, were second only to the Lannisters'. Any house as significant as such was to be kept close to watch and to reap benefit from. The Starks could never be bought and had only proved a great asset when Robert was alive, because of his bond with Ned Stark. Now that he was gone, the Starks had no reason to keep at their beck and call; given their lack of love for Lannisters.

" I doubt she's anything compared to my Sansa." He doesn't realize how fondly he speaks of Sansa but his mother most certainly does.

"You want to stay betrothed to Sansa, then?"

"Yes." He looks away, as if admitting a weakness.

"Then so be it. I will speak to your grandfather and see what can be done. " If he had met his mother's eyes he might have seen the myriad of emotion swimming in them but she is out of the room before he can.

* * *

Hi there. I was quite disappointed with the lack of reviews for the past two chapters. Please review if you guys want more. And also, if any of you have questions feel free to PM me or ask me through a review, I promise to answer. :)


	4. Chapter 4

After breaking fast with Joffrey, Sansa had been left to her own devices well into the afternoon. She had pondered on Joffrey during those few hours. Did he _like_ her again? Did this mean she was safe? Or would he change moods and follow through on beating her? As she thought and thought, she realized that Joffrey had not looked like he were to follow through on beating her _ever_. Even when he had first said it. Where did this leave her then? Could she go back to feeling about him the way she had before? No. From the moment he had spoken words about her traitor father, everything had changed. She saw that he was not who she thought. Her mind had brought her back to Arya and the boy Joffrey had killed and Lady, her direwolf, who died as well. Joffrey could definitely be cruel. Yet, something inside her wanted to believe that he would not be cruel to her. Not like he was with other people. Her thoughts are interrupted by the Queen entering her room.

"Hello, little dove."

"Your Grace." She curtsies.

"I've just come from speaking with my son."

"I hope you found him in good health, Your Grace."

Cersei rolls her eyes at Sansa's forced propriety.

"Yes, little dove, he was in good health. However, he was not in a good mood."

Cersei smirks at the confused look on Sansa's face.

"I am sorry to hear that, Your Grace. I pray everyday for the King's well-being."

"Do you not wish to know why he was in a dark mood?"

"If you wish to tell me, Your Grace."

"My lord-father suggested he consider marrying Margaery Tyrell instead of you."

Sansa felt a hope of escape at her words, like a prisoner seeing sunlight through a cell window. But the the feeling was promptly diminished by the queen's next words.

"He threw a tantrum, father tells me. Refusing to even hear about breaking his engagement to you."

"I .. I am glad that the King is content with me." The lies came so naturally to her. In her heart, she was so terribly scared. Why did Joffrey want to keep her around? Was he not, just a week ago, complaining about marrying Ned Stark's daughter? Was she wrong about him not wishing to hurt her? What if he was only prolonging the time before her punishment for his amument? It seemed like the only plausible answer to her.

"It seems that he cares for you more than we thought."

"I love my King and I am pleased that he cares for me." Sansa thinks back to the time when this statement could have been the complete and utter truth; words from her heart.

"You can try to love him. But one day he'll be bored and you'll be around to play with. Believe me that playing with Joffrey is no fun at all. Just ask the cats he would cut open when he was but a little boy."

Sansa suppresses a shiver at Cersei's words.

"Should I not love King Joffrey, Your Grace?"

"Like I said, you can try. What I meant to say, little dove, is that love will take you nowhere. Wether you love him or not, you will obey him. Love him or not, you will bear his children. Love him or not, you will keep his secrets. Love is immaterial and when it fades, if it is even there to begin with, duty will still remain. Do you understand?"

"I believe I do, Your Grace."

Cersei smiles.

"Such a sweet little dove. I do hope you survive my son, Sansa."

She departs after her final words and Sansa watches the whirl of silks from her gown trail out of the room.

* * *

Joffrey remains in his grandfather's solar for two hours after his mother leaves him. Once he's gathered all of his thoughts, he makes his way to Sansa's chambers. He is a man on a mission. Now that he knew what he wanted, he was not about to let it slip away. Sansa would be his. Mind, body and soul. She is settling in her room when he arrives. Her handmaidens are undoing her braids and brushing her hair. They are all startled to see him. The handmaidens quickly give curtsies. He speaks.

"Leave us."

They hastily exit the room.

He takes her in with a gasp. Her hair is down and her gown is gone, leaving her in a shift that clung to her womanly form. She looks otherworldly. Too beautiful to be of the earth.

"Your Grace, I was not expecting..."  
She trails off, watching him gaze at her.

"Your hair is beautiful. Like fire."

"Thank you, Your Grace." She waits, not knowing why Joffrey had come.

He walks toward her and stops only when he is directly in front of her, less than inches away. She is still seated and he looks down at her.

"Your skin is beautiful as well. Radiant and fair."

"I... Thank You." Her thoughts are jumbled, he is so close to her. His proximity is overwhelming. He is so _handsome_.

"I wonder, does it feel as soft as it looks?" He raises his hand and cups her cheek.

Her eyes close at the sensation. Her whole cheek is tingling, she can feel no other part of he body in the moment. Only his hand caressing her face. Joffrey groans.

"You feel unbelievable. I can only imagine what you feel like in _other_ places." He says this with a groan, his thoughts leading him to places he had never been before. He was suddenly lost, imagining what it would be like to touch all over her, to be touched all over _by_ her. To be inside her. He cries out in desperation. _  
_

"Stand."

She obeys. They are face to face now. Joffrey a few inches taller than her.

His hands land on her waist. He pulls her close. She gasps at the sensation. He touches her forehead against hers.

"You are mine." Her heart churns at his words. _His? What did that mean? To be owned by someone? _

Regardless, the King owned everything wether she liked it or not.

"Yes, of course Your Grace."

She swears that she hears him sigh in relief. How odd.

* * *

AN

Sorry to be a c***blocker! We'll pick up on this scene the next chapter! Reviews=Updates :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Sorry for posting so late! School has started for me again. Please do review. It's the surest way to get faster updates out of me. :) **

* * *

In her room, for the second time that day and the third time ever, he kisses her. But this time he does not have to pull away. He ravages her mouth with his. Hungry to posses her, all of her. No one else could have her. She was his. She would always be his. She pulls away for lack of breath and his kisses continue to her neck. Her eyes close once more at the pleasurable feeling. His hands trail up and down the sides of the gown. Her body feels unbelievable to him. Complete and utter _perfection_. His tongue traces her lip, begging to be noticed. She opens her mouth in response. They both gasp at the feeling of their tongues touching.

"Sansa...so...so...good. Mine...my...Sansa." He says in between kisses.

She feels a wetness between her legs starting to pool at his words.

Before they can move any further, there is a loud obnoxious knock on the door.

"What?" Joffrey growls. Damn it all. _Again? Really? _

"It is I, your Uncle Tyrion. Dont you want to welcome me properly?"

Sansa gasps and starts to pull away from him. He keeps his arms around her.

"Where do you think you're going?" He asks with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Her eyes widen. "Did you not hear your uncle? It would be highly improper for us to turn him away."

She moves toward the door and opens it, after making sure her gown was straight and her hair were in place.

"Lord Tyrion, how glad we are to see you." She gives a perfunctory curtsey.

"Hello, my dear. How do you fare in King's Landing?" She can feel his piercing stare, checking for bruises, tears, fear in her eyes; all the things that usually came with being in proximity with his nephew.

"Quite well." She answers pleasantly, surprised by his concern.

"How pleasantly surprising to hear. Have you been kind to Sansa, Joff?"

Joffrey rolls his eyes. "Of course I have. She is my betrothed."

Tyrion observes them for a moment and takes in his disheveled appearance.

"It seems you've been _very_ kind indeed, Joff. Well, I'm sure you two are eager to go back to your former activities. This conversation can wait until tomorrow. Goodnight." With that, Tyrion is out of the room.

Joffrey exhales into Sansa's neck. His arms a vice around her. She breathes in his smell. He smells heavenly.

"Is this wise, Your Grace?" She feels his smile on her neck.

"Nothing was ever wiser." His voice is muffled but she hears his words.

"Joffrey..."

"Yes, my love?" Her eyes widen at the endearment but his eyes are closed and his face is in her neck.

"Does this... does this mean... that you... like... me?" She cant believe the impertinence of her question but the way he had been acting made her forget the courtesies she so efficiently used as armor.

He opens his eyes and releases her from his grip. "Yes Sansa. I like you. Very much."

She allows herself to smile at his words.

"Why?"

Joffrey raises his eyebrow. "Why what?"

"Why do you like me? You could have anyone."

He thinks for a moment.

"When you're not with me... I...I make decisions I regret later on. That unnerves me. When I'm with you, I think more clearly, I can see how my decisions will affect others, not just myself. As a king, decisions... they mean so much more. Do you... understand?"

She thinks of her father and how his decisions as a lord affected so many. "Yes, I understand."

She rests a hand on his arm and rubs it comfortingly. She had seen her mother repeat this motion over and over, she remembered how much comfort it had brought her father in his times of worry. The times he had to be the Lord of Winterfell.

Joffrey smiles. "That's another reason as well."

"What is, Your Grace?"

"That's another reason I need you. You understand. I _know_ you understand. It used to scare me, the thought of someone seeing through me but now... it does not." He looks away while he speaks. Just because he was no longer scared, that did not mean he wasn't a bit bashful of being so... needy. He was a boy after all.

"I am the daughter of a lord. That is why I understand. There are many other daughters of lords." She knows she must not allow herself to fall so blindly. She had thought he was perfect just weeks ago and he had proved her to be quite wrong. It was so hard to resist though, _he_ was hard to resist. She was just a girl after all.

"Dont." His jaw is clenched, he is obviously bothered or... angry? Yes, she realizes, he is quite angry. She also realizes that he is trying to suppress said anger. This was not like him at all. He bathed in his anger.

"Your Grace?"

"Do not ever say that. _You_ understand me. Not because you are a daughter of a lord. Just _because._ I will marry you. No one else." She can tell when the anger leaves him, all his muscles relax and he looks at her with tenderness once more.

Tears form in her eyes. Every cruel thing he has ever said to her is far from her mind. This was all she had ever wanted. To be cherished. She felt so close to it all.

He notices her tears and feels his heart clench in fear.

"Sansa?"

"I apologize." Her face is averted but he can see that she is wiping her eyes. He notices the fear clawing in his gut.

"Do you... not wish to marry me?"

What would he do if she would not have him? He wanted her, truly and unquestionably, he did. It seemed that nothing would make him happier. But if she did not want him... would their being together still give him joy? Knowing that every touch would be repulsive to her, that every word from her mouth would be forced, every child a burden not a blessing?

Before his spirit gave out under the duress of such thoughts, she puts him out of his misery.

"No... no... I... I've just realized."

There is a long pause, he is afraid to ask her to continue.

"There is... nothing that could make me happier. Your Grace."

He breaks into a grin. Before he can give her a proper response, preferably without words but still with his mouth and maybe his tongue, there is another knock on the door.

"Gods, is this the new common room?! It seems everyone is clawing their way in here."

"Not everyone. Just the woman who brought you into the world, my love." They hear the Queen's muffled voice from the other side of the door.

Sansa blushes and Joffrey rolls his eyes. The door opens and Cersei gracefully waltzes into the room. Her eyes quickly assessing their positions.

"How can I help you, mother?"

"I only want to help you, dear. How would it look for your poor Sansa if you were to spend extended periods of time in her chambers _before_ you are wed."

"This court is a constant pain. Are they not here for my entertainment? They are more trouble than they're worth." Cersei's infamous mocking grin appears.

Joffrey sighs and turns to Sansa.

"I'm afraid my mother is right."

Still looking at his betrothed, he addresses his mother. "You're free to go now, Mother. Thank you for the reminder."

Sansa feels her stomach clench at the way he addresses the Queen that she had recently found so menacing. To Sansa's surprise, she leaves without a word.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" She hides her face in his shoulder as she says this, a tad embarrassed.

He smiles and lifts her chin up to make their eyes meet. He presses a chaste kiss on her lips.

"My love, you will see me tomorrow and all the tomorrows after that." With that, he walks out of the room, leaving the full embodiment of a blushing maiden behind.


	6. Chapter 6

Bright and early the next morning, Joffrey receives his uncle properly into the Keep. They share a breakfast together. Joffrey had never really liked his Imp uncle, he was _imperfect_. But as he sat through what would be his first ever meal with his uncle and no one else, he realizes his uncle is a _very_ smart man. True, he was small and his face could be better but Joffrey was slowly starting to realize that he was flawed as well. The only difference was that his uncle wore his defects for the world to see and, in the light of his recent realizations about himself, he could not help but admire him for it. As the meal starts to come to a close, they move from the heated topic of politics.

"Joffrey, are you happy with your soon-to-be bride?"

"I am sure that the interlude you so very timely interrupted last night will serve a sufficient answer, uncle." Tyrion smirks at the frustration his nephew plainly wears.

"I'm sure that, physically, you are more than pleased. I do have eyes, you know. But you are to be her husband. You will vow to respect her, to value her, and to fight for her and your children with her. This might not mean complete and utter faithfulness but it does mean commitment in some ways, still. Does she inspire those things in you?"

Joffrey sits back and thinks on what his uncle has said.

"Yes."

Tyrion smiles. He had purposefully given a more demanding description than was actually expected of kings to test the feelings of his nephew. _Joffrey may have hope after all, _he thinks to himself.

"You are in for an interesting rule, then, nephew. Thank you for the breakfast, it was all I hoped it to be and more. Please do come to me if you are in need of anything."

With that, Tyrion Lannister leaves the room.

_Politically astute, unafraid to ask the hard questions but no penchant for cruelty._ Joffrey had always admired his grandfather Tywin but he saw that day what he truly hoped a role model would be like in his Uncle the Imp.

* * *

Sansa breaks her fast alone that morning. The maids then insist on using her seemingly free day to touch up her aesthetic practices. They wash every inch of her and anoint her hair and body with the loveliest scents. They are finishing buttoning up her dress and plaiting her hair when she receives a note carried by a knight of the Kingsguard.

"What does it say?" She asks one of her maids.

"It is from the King, my lady. He requests that you take a walk around the gardens with him."

Sansa smiles. Joffrey never requested. She felt her heart flutter at the thought of him making an effort.

"Tell the King that I will be with him as soon as I am able." The maid she instructed leaves to send word thought the guard. She turns back to the handmaidens remaining and blushes.

"Do you think you could make me look a bit prettier today?"

* * *

His back is towards her when she arrives. He is observing the flowers, he realizes that there are hundreds of them, different colors, different kinds. They are beautiful. But then he realizes how much work they must be, the guards tell him each flower is watered at different times and with different amount of water. _That must be the key then, _he thinks to himself. _Everything good and inspiring, it is worked for. _Before he can think some more, he hears the voice that he's been waiting for.

"Your Grace?"

He turns around and lets out a deep breath. "Sansa." He sighs. His eyes are taking her in, consuming all of her. Desperate to memorize every part of her.

"Is there anything wrong, Your Grace?"

"No." He answers promptly. "Not anymore."

Her brows furrow in confusion and wonder what has him so bothered.

He, however is thinking about how awful the afternoon was without her. After his talk with his uncle, all he had wanted was to return to her, to feel her lips against his, to hear her voice at his ear and to wrap his arms around her and never let go. But kings had extremely droll things to do. Things he never dreamed he would have to do. It was torture.

"Sansa, are you averse to hearing small council discussions?" This was, after all, what he had been doing all afternoon. He was sure it would have been _much _less torturous, had she been there.

"Not at all. My father has them for Winterfell quite often and I would sit in once in a while."

He smiles. This was a surprise. He had always pegged her for a dolls girl.

"Interested in matters of the kingdom, are you?" He asks jestingly.

She blushes. "Well, at the time...not exactly. My sister, she preferred to play with my brothers so I would be alone with my Septa quite a bit and there were times that she became too... smothering for my taste. My father's meetings were a good escape."

She was looking down at the ground throughout her speech, as though she was afraid to be reprehended for such an admission. He cant help but laugh at her sweetness.

"Dont be ashamed, I've done much worse. You will always be the sweeter of the two of us, my dear."

She feels her heart flutter at his words.

"Thank you."

"Sansa, I must ask you something."

"Yes, my lord?"

"How averse are you to marrying soon?"

She startles.

"My mother and father, my siblings are all so far away... I have no dress...my septa has not learned me in the ways of...how soon?" She finally asks.

"Tomorow."

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**SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. PLEASE REVIEW! You know what they motivate me to do! **


	7. Chapter 7

Outwardly, he waits for her to answer without concern. Inwardly, he is burning. Every second she refuses to answer cuts him deeper and deeper. This was supposed to be their moment. The moment he showed her he cared by even asking her at all instead of expecting her to dutifully proceed. Yet, here she is, silent as a lamb. Despite his mortification, he cannot overlook her appearance. _She is so beautiful._ Her hair is adorned with a makeshift hairband of braids, leaving her face uncovered, the rest of her hair flowing down her back. Her skin is glowing, her lips are full, and her eyes are piercing. But her _dress_, her dress was made to skim the lines of propriety; in technicality it was as modest as custom and society required but in reality, it displayed the work of art that was her body. It was just tight enough to give an authentic outline of her round, substantial breasts and cut just enough to show the amazing flare of her hips. Amazing, beautiful, incredibly frustrating girl. All he can think, as he takes her in, is: _I have to make her mine_. Officially and irrevocably. _Sansa, choose me. Please choose me. No one good ever does. Please be the one. I choose you. Please choose me. _He begs her repeatedly. Almost like a prayer. _The gods cannot reprove me for excessively reverence, they were the ones who chose to form her a goddess._ He can bear the wait no longer.

"Sansa? What is your answer?" He fees the urge to take her hand but he tarries.

"My lord, I want to wait until my father has returned. I don't want to marry without my family's consent." What she really means is: _I do not want to be disowned for marrying you. _

"Your father has fled Sansa, he refuses to even be my Hand. Surely, he will not give me his consent." He feels his heart beating fast, he is about to hear a _no_. About to be rejected. He can feel it. He always can_. You are not good enough, _is what _no_ really means. He turns away and braces himself for her refusal.

"Then I cannot answer. I cannot wed without my father present, without my family. I am so sorry, My Lord." She turns away, awaiting his wrath.

A yell, a sound of something breaking, or, at least, a cuss. Instead there is silence. A cold, spine-chilling silence. After a minute, she hears him get up. She finally sums up the courage to look up at him but when she does he is already walking away.

* * *

She is completely stunned, at first.

_Is he coming back? Shall I wait here? Shall I see myself to my room? I will look a fool if I sit here all day._

Thankfully, she does not have to wait long.

A guard informs her that he is to escort her back to her room, or wherever she wishes to go.

_He is not coming back. _

She stands and walks towards her chambers, summoning all the dignity she witnessed of her mother.

_Head up, shoulders straight, no despondent eyes. Be strong. Be strong. _

She chants to herself throughout the walk, it seems as though it will never end. But the gods are merciful and she finally reaches her room. She is not sure what Catelyn Stark does once she reaches _her_ room on _her_ bad days, but Sansa is not perfect like her mother, so she cries. And cries. And cries some more. The sun sets and she is still under her covers, the tears have stopped flowing but her heart is still aching.

She is completely alone, she realizes. No mother, no father, no brothers, she would even take her sister.

_Now,_ _no Joffrey_.

It seems impossible but the tears flow once more_. Come back, _she wants to yell.

_Please._

Instead, she cries once more. The sun rises and she is still in her bed, her heart weary of aching.

* * *

He stands after he gathers himself adequately. It would not do for guards to see him distraught. He contemplates taking a look at her for she had been silent as well. But he is not courageous enough.

_I cannot look upon her, knowing she does not want to be mine. That she does not want me. I must walk away. Before she breaks me. Goodbye Sansa. _

The last thought is the most painful of all. Goodbye. If he lets her go, someone will marry her. Most definitely, someone will. She is a sweet girl and will surely love her husband. A husband who would not be him.

_Ah. Pain. Right in my heart._

He wants to turn it off. The emotions. They threaten to swallow him and tear him apart. He walks briskly to his room, commanding that no one is to be allowed inside. Once alone, his thoughts haunt him once more.

_No one good ever chooses me. I am not good. I am evil. Mother only loves me because she is evil as well. Father was right. He finds himself, once again, cursing the day the gods decided to give him Robert Baratheon for a father. Evil. Evil. Evil. I am evil. Sansa will never love me. And the darkness swallows him whole. The sun sets and rises, yet the king remains motionless. Paralyzed by his grief. _

* * *

Meanwhile, the spies have had adequate time to report of the squabble to their employers and various plans have been set into motion. Cersei, Varys and Littlefinger: names that are to be feared indeed. Even the king has reason to be fearful. The king might control the kingdom but who controls the king?

* * *

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	8. Chapter 8

The court has been aflutter for at least seven days. They speak of Joffrey, the King, and the little dove who wasn't so innocent after all. Some said that she had soiled her virtue back at the North and was unsuitable for him to marry, some said she was just plain cruel and liked to play mind games with the king. Joffrey Baratheon endured the torture by not acknowledging that it was there. He had seen the walls of his chambers, only those walls, for seven days. His meals were brought to him, the council updated him and received messages from him via writing. His own mother was not allowed to enter his room. The servants who entered were not allowed to speak without being given permission and trembled in fear during the whole of their short stays. Tyrion Lannister had come by just a few hours ago. Joffrey recalls the incident. _Was it day or night? My curtains have not been opened in days, I would not know. The crazy imp. Calling me names. I would have his head if I cared to command it. But I do not _care_. About anything. Except her. No. No, no, no. Forget her. Forget. Now. Please. Make me forget. Please. Crazy imp, making me remember._

"Joffrey. Joffrey, open this door!" He walked to the door but refused to open it.

"I can hear you just fine through the door, Uncle."

"Will you hole up in that room like a coward for the duration of your reign? I may not be a member of the council but that is _not_ the way to win wars."

"Well, you'll just have to win them without me."

"Do not say such things! Even _I _am concerned for the shame you bring upon yourself."

"Ah, the honor. Of course, protect my Baratheon honor. But even above that, protect the Lannister honor. For what is the world without the Lannister honor?"

"Damn the Lannister honor! And the Baratheon honor, may the gods damn as well. _Your_ honor, Joffrey. I will light this castle on fire if it wil get you out of this dungeon you call a chamber!"

"Then I will burn with it."

"If you never leave this room, she will be with someone else before you know it. She will not even think of you. You coward."

He hears footsteps and they slowly fade. His family must truly hate him to tear his heart out when it is already in pieces.

* * *

The King may have been allowed to sulk and hide but Sansa was given no such reprieve. The past seven days had been about meeting new suitors. She had to admit that she was surprised to have so many. Knights, Lords, sons of Lords, and more. Yet, all her smiles were forced and her laughs even more so. She longed for gold hair, strong hands, and even unpredictable temper. _Oh Joffrey. Come back to me._ She pleads everyday in her head but he surely does not hear. Does not care. She hears he has not left his room. Judging by Robert Baratheon's reign, Joffrey was probably not alone in his chambers. In fact, he was so satisfied in his rooms that he had not left. Of course. _He is the King, he can have anyone he wants._

She prays and prays that her choice was the right one. That she will be reunited with her family soon and that she will never have to step foot in the Red Keep ever again. The pain was too much. All too much. She feared she would never escape it. She lays in bed at night and has to convince herself before she can even come close to rest. _If he cared for you like you do - did, for him then _ _he would not have behaved in such a manner. Let it go. Forget about him. He is the King, he will surely forget about you. _Every night for the past seven nights, tears have lulled her to sleep.

* * *

"Wake up! Joffrey, wake up! Joffrey. WAKE UP."

He is shook out of his sleep and he opens his eyes to see his uncle's face.

"No one is allowed in my room." He is awake instantly, his territory has been invaded.

Tyrion laughs carelessly. "Good morning."

"Get out."

Tyrion rolls his eyes. "Only if you will."

"I shall not. You cannot make me."

"Alright then, I shall send you your invitation to Sansa's wedding in a week or so."

Joffrey leaps out of bed. His whole being in a fury.

"How. Dare. You."

"How dare I what? I am the _only_ one who is trying to help you, hard as it may be to believe. I am sure you have devoted copious amounts of time just staring at the girl, you surely know how attractive she is. Did you think there would not be any suitors once you took her eyes off of her?"

"No."

"No what? I am afraid you cannot do much about it."

"I will _not_ allow anyone to have her." His jaw is clenched, his whole body coiling to strike. Anger is consuming him once again.

"_Relax_."

_ I could never, not after knowing about the damn suitors._ "Only when I know that no one else will have her."

"The only way you will _know _such a thing is when you man up and get her back."

"_No_."

"If you try to do it any other way, you are no worse than Aerys Targaryen, the man your father fought so hard to userp. Selfish, collecting people as if they were his objects. You would have Sansa lonely and unloved forever just to save yourself from jealousy."

Joffrey is silent so Tyrion continues.

"Until you have the courage to pursue her, you will not have the right to make her yours."

He somehow knows it is wrong but he whispers it anyway. "I am the king. I have the right to do anything I want."

"If you think that is what makes a king, than you are a fool. You will not focre that girl to be miserable. Over my dead body, Joffrey. Over my dead body."

Tyrion walks out of his room after his impassioned parting words. Joffrey is defenitely awake now and before he can stop himself, he wonders what his beautiful Sansa is doing.

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**Please review, they really do encourage me to write. :) **


	9. Chapter 9

She is underneath him and he cannot hear any words coming from her mouth but what he _does_ hear reassures him that she is feeling pleasure better than any word can. Her fiery hair is splayed on his pillow, her blue eyes hooded with desire. She bites her lip, she closes her eyes, lets out a gasp, a moan, and finally she cries out his name. He continues to move in and out, and in and out, he is _so_ close he can taste her, and then….

He wakes up. There is a cold and wet feeling on his stomach. Fuck. Gods damn that woman. He leaps from the bed and he is about to slap a vase out of a table to hear the relieving sound of shattering glass… but then he sees her face in her mind. Horrified at his actions and his twitching hand comes back to his side. _Damn_. Damn it all. This was to be the last day. It had to be. Twenty days were much too long to spend on a girl. He hadn't even been inside her yet. _Ah_. Inside her. As if on command, his nether region comes alive. Now all parts of him are _standing_. No. This is the last day. It ends today. I am the king, I will not suffer at the hands of a _girl_. How blasphemous to call her a girl, her body was all _woman_. Oh gods! _Again_. He strides determinedly to his closet and begins to put on his under tunic.

"Hello there!"

His tailor comes in, obvious fear in his eyes. After all, the King had not called for him in twenty days. Tailors are not needed for under tunics. But today, he is determined to be a King again. When he is freed from his thoughts he is dressed in finery and his crown to top it all off; he is ready to be seen. He strides past his double doors and into the court. All the usual people are there. Young women, desperate to be Queen, their mothers who had implanted said desperation, their fathers who probably held some position in his court and, of course, his small council who had surely not counted on seeing him this day for they looked the most shocked of all.

Varys is the first to speak.

"Your Grace, how nice to see you again. You are looking royal as ever." He is given only a nod in response.

He walks to his mother. She is blond and beautiful, like always. But she is evil and he knows it, her beauty was so strong on the outside it must have sucked out the inside. That was the explanation, surely.

"Where is she?" She turns around, a swish of blond and silk.

"Joff, how nice to see you out of that dungeon you call a room."

"I asked you a question, I want an answer."

She smiles that half sardonic smile. The only one she can.

"Surely, there are more important matters you should be informed-"

He cuts her off. "I am Your King. When I ask a question, you answer."

Her eyes widen in shock, uncharacteristic of her. But she recovers quickly and her face is a mask, cold as ice. "She is in the gardens."

"Thank You, Mother."

He walks swiftly to the gardens.

He sees the sunlight touching the green grass, the new flowers in bloom, the bright gold of the sun, but then he sees her. His breath catches. She is more beautiful than ever. His memory was against him, she was _so much more _beautiful than he remembered. _I can do this. If I can rule a country, this should be nothing. _Every step is met with a loud pound of his heart. Finally, he is right in front of her. Her eyes wide with surprise at his appearance. She stands, most probably to curtsy, but he motions for her to sit down.

"I will not take long, it would be pointless for you to stand." She settles back into her postion. Her face a mask as well. But instead of his mother's icy stare, her mask is one of politeness and sweetness and, like all masks; it is still not far from who she is. She stares patiently up at him.

"Yes, well. I just wanted to tell you that I am done. I am sorry for any mortification I may have caused you and I wish you the very best in life. I hear you are seeing many suitors, and I wanted to tell you that I most wholeheartedly approve. I will go my own way, and you will go on yours. You are free to go if you wish. Send your Father my peace and the rest of your family as well."

He walks away. Just like that. And he remembers this is why he was doing this. His heart could only bear to walk away from her one last time.

She stays in that garden, where he has broken her heart for the second time. Tears run down her cheeks but she is sure not to make a sound. She expertly catches them under her eyes before they can make a mark or cause swelling. She hears someone clear his throat behind her. She turns to see a beautiful brown haired boy. He walks over to her, a furrow between his brows. He looks….._displeased_. For a brief moment, she looks down at her body_. I am adequately put together, as usual. What is his problem? _But then she remembers that her tears are still brimming. She is mortified. She could not turn her back on him for it would be terrible manners. He smiles softly at her sheepish expression. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket.

"Do not worry My Lady, I shall not tell. Beautiful flowers like you are too pretty to cry. Let this be the last time." She has to smile at his tenderness.

"How kind of you to say." He grins in response.

"Honesty is the best, kindness you know."

She laughs a real laugh, the first in twenty days.

"I am Loras," The boy says. "Loras Tyrell."

* * *

I know, I know. Too much angst. It will soon be over, I promise. Review! Nothing gets me going like a good review. :)


	10. Chapter 10

In two days, he is back into the King's regular cycle. He would be fencing, riding, or hunting in the morning; then dying of boredom for the rest of the day. Small Council meetings were only useful for about the first five minutes when true issues were truly discussed; the rest of the time was his Mother insisting on being informed of affairs she had no hope in contributing to. One had to care about people to be helpful, after all. He also suffered through hearing the opinions of his court, most of whom were either loose 'ladies' who should have been born with their mouths sealed shut or men who were only of use on their horses or their swords. But these must have been the pains a king had to endure and endure them he would. He had to admit that even these mundane tasks were better fillers of his days than moping about in his room. He's heard nothing of his lovely...of Sansa. Damn. He had not seen her around the Keep and he must have missed her when she was at court. No one was giving him any information about her and he was too stubborn to ask for it. _I did tell her she was free to do as she wished. She is most probably planning her journey to Winterfell already. _His heart clenches. Winterfell was so _far_. _At least when she marries, she will be far away from you. Oh hell. That was not a helpful thought at all. Stop! Stop thinking about her, you idiot. You wont last a day if you do._

* * *

Ser Loras was definitely an attentive suitor. Much more considerate than the few she had to meet. Really, if she had her own way, she would not be meeting with _any_ suitors. She would be spending all her time planning for her journey back to _Winterfell_. Oh finally, she would home at last. Yet, she knew it was her responsibility to meet with suitors. It was what she was taught to do. To be gracious to all who asked for her hand. No one had told her, though, that it would be so tiresome. She had thought she would have one or two perfect handsome knights who were to be lords. Instead she got foul knights, stumbling second sons, and arrogant first sons. Their laughter too loud, their jokes too crude, their logic obviously misplaced and their patience nonexistent. Ser Loras, though, was different. He listened to her stories of home, her dreams for the future, he told her of himself as well. Not to brag, like many others did, but sincerely for her to know him. _Why could Joffrey not do this for me?_ She catches herself thinking once in a while. _Stop it, you foolish girl. Stop. He is the king; his choices are above you and none of your concern. Even if those choices do make your heart ache._

"Where were you, my dear?" She hears Ser Loras ask.

"Whatever do you mean, Ser?" She knows she has been caught again.

"I've asked you the same question twice now."

"Oh, please do forgive me. I'm afraid my thoughts have occupied me. What was your question?"

"I was asking if you'd like to see this letter. From Winterfell. It is addressed to you."

_Oh finally. My family. _

"Oh, yes please."

She takes the heavy parchment from him and sits down. "Do you mind if I read it now? I have not heard for them in so long…."

"Of course not. Please go ahead. I will leave you to it, I shall be out in the halls if you need me."

The letter went like this.

_Sansa,_

_My love, your father requires that you stay in King's Landing. He also insists upon your being kept in the dark as to why this must be. I am so sorry, My Darling. You must feel terrible after the end of your betrothal. I pray for you to the gods, old and new, everyday. We all love you so very much. Please, please, keep safe. You are a smart girl. Know who to trust, but more importantly, also know whom not to trust. We are doing all we can to make you and your siblings safe and happy._

_Your Mother, Lady Stark of Winterfell._

Stay? In King's Landing? Why would her father ask such a hardness of her? She was in tears once more when Ser Loras came back to her.

"My Lady, I believe this garden is not the best place for you. You are always in tears when I find you here." He says this in a jesting tone but she can see the true concern in his eyes.

"Oh please do forgive me. I've been behaving in such an unladylike manner with you. If you would excuse me, I believe I need to be alone."

"Shall I escort you to your chambers?" He asks with a kind smile.

"I would very much appreciate it."

He smiles wider and offers her his arm. She smiles in return and takes it.

"You know you are much too kind to me. Women of the court are boiling with envy."

He turns to her. "You noticed that?"

"How could I not? It was as if they were trying to set me on fire with just their eyes."

He laughs loudly at that.

"They probably were."

She smiles. Ser Loras definitely made staying seem more attractive than it had moments ago. Oh, the powers of a handsome boy. Could he take the place of Joffrey?

Ser Loras was so considerate and sweet. He was all she had ever wanted. Truly, he was. Her days with him were filled with laughter despite the pain in her heart. Yet, somewhere deep inside of her, she knew he was not the one. No matter how terribly she wished him to be. No matter how terribly she wished to be _safe_. To be far away from the heartache she had known the past few days and to just be happy. Happiness was truly something to treasure, but it was not passion. True passion. That was only to be found in a boy with golden hair.

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